


An Exchange In Culture

by unrestricted_obsessions



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo is So Done, Cultural Differences, First Kiss, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Hair Braiding, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Thorin Is an Idiot, he's fed up of beating around the bush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrestricted_obsessions/pseuds/unrestricted_obsessions
Summary: Bilbo's hair has grown awfully long, and the insufferable dwarves have seen it as an opportunity to gloat over their complicated, beautiful braids, yet refuse to put those skills to use for Bilbo's sake. Well, all apart from Thorin, who's more than happy to decorate the hobbit's curly locks.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 14
Kudos: 342





	An Exchange In Culture

Thorin seemed to have had a particular burst of determination for the past few days, pushing himself and the rest of the Company (earlier Bilbo would have felt the need to add himself to that list separately, but after the warm and frankly quite embarrassing embrace on the Carrock, he is content to accept himself as one of the team) to further limits. This meant tragedy for their official burglar, who was far past the point of verbally expressing his discomfort, yet still grit his teeth and tightened his belt. And though the laborious march and significant lack of much food was admittedly taking it's toll on him, that had surprisingly not been the subject of his frustrations lately.

Even if it seemed odd and hazy, as though he had lived this way his whole life, it had truly been quite some time since he left the comforts of the Shire, and thus his hair had grown irritatingly long, though it wasn't quite long in the sense of the dwarves' or a hobbit lass's hair was, more at an odd length that left his fringe poking directly into his eyes and the rest scratching at his shoulders awkwardly. It was to be expected and understood that none of his companions (including himself) had the tools nor skills necessary to give a dignified cut, but what little of his respectable behaviours lingered refrained him from sneaking away one of Fíli's knives and chopping the ends of the locks away haphazardly. He was only glad that since the Goblin Caves and Azog's confrontation they hadn't truly seen battle, for his hair had consistently obscured his vision whenever he needed it most nowadays.

Bilbo was no fool (though many, mostly Gandalf, seemed to enjoy objecting to that) and though he was mainly oblivious to all the complications and details of dwarven culture, he had obviously noticed the many elaborate - the hobbit would like to call them ostentatious, if only to see the look on all the dwarrows' faces in response - yet beautiful and, most importantly, effective braids in everyone else's hair. He had dared to comment on it once, while they were having a relieving yet miserably short break. The only response arrived as an uproar of laughter and a rude dismissal when he had politely requested they help him tie his mischievous hair back in some way.

'Really!' Bilbo thought to himself bitterly after that specific scene. 'If such a question could impose such a reaction in their culture, how in Yavanna's name would they expect me to be aware of it? Curse these ridiculous dwarves and their manners!'

Fíli and Kíli in particular, as the youngest and silliest of the group (discluding Ori, who was entirely sensible in Bilbo's eyes) seemed quite loathe to let go of the topic. While they were riding and the certain person who was beginning to regret his decision ever to leave the Shire would get poked in the eye in some form of betrayal from his own hair, Kíli would appear seemingly out of nowhere, his brother shortly in tow with teasing remarks framed in innocent tones and expressions. Of course, having too many young cousins to count, Bilbo knew all too well the cunning tactics which could most likely be phrased as a manipulation, and fell for none of it, often playing along with his own witty responses, but otherwise ignoring them on the days he felt most irritable. Those days were slowly increasing.

Eventually, he gave in after many scenarios of almost pleading every dwarf (except intentionally Thorin, merely because it felt silly approaching him with such a petty matter) to help him with his stray locks and being cast aside or ignored by every single one of them, so he attempted some sort of restraint himself. They had all just finished as satisfying a meal as they could get these days and, seemingly feeling in a somewhat merrier mood this night, comtinued to idle around the fire talking and laughing before retreating to sleep. Though Bilbo would have loved to join in their tales and jokes, now truly being wanted and accepted amongst them, he strayed slightly further from the light and began his trial and error process. In truth, much more error than he had hoped. 

In his adamant attention and focus on his project, he somehow hadn't noticed the presence behind him, despite the loud approach beforehand. Though as a defense, he would say it was because he had grown too accustomed to the ridiculous noise dwarves made when stomping around.

"You don't seem to be making much progress there, Master Baggins."

The deep lull of the voice, completely serene and yet an undeniable hint of humour hiding somewhere in the calm, somehow caused a heavy pounding in his heart similar to that of the King's booted feet, so that he was sure the whole camp could hear how utterly hopeless he was.

However, Bilbo only huffed.  
"I don't see how you expect me to, with no experience and no teaching, but I have been brought to drastic measures."  
It was quite definitively annoyance in his voice, but a fond undertone could not be missed, so that he was returning the teasing with his own somewhat playful remark as he turned to face the dwarf.

Thorin laughed, a hearty noise that rumbled from his chest and left Bilbo's own feeling rattled. It was something that had once seemed so rare, but was now bestowed freely and generously around the hobbit, the thought of which alone made him smile.

"You have not been brought to any measures unwillingly, however drastic. I can't seem to recall you ever asking my assistance," he said, an unmistakable smirk curling his lips.

His response came out embarrassingly breathless, and a flush heated his cheeks so that he quickly evaded Thorin's stare by turning around again. Of course he wasn't lying when he claimed no knowledge of dwarven culture, specifically that surrounding braids, but having been granted the reactions of innocent requests to assist with his hair, he had begun to develop suspicions. For the sake of his poor heart, he only hoped it could be used as a symbol of deep trust, respect and friendship, possibly even an apology of Thorin's initial rude behaviour.

"Would you?"

He only recieved a hum in agreement as Thorin gingerly took the tangle of an attempted braid from Bilbo's hands and unweaved it, his hands the only comb available. There were no complaints from either side as Thorin felt the soft mass of almost golden curls and Bilbo was relaxed by the fingers running through his hair in a rhythmic motion. The moment felt delicately private, so that neither risked breaking it by speaking. 

Once Thorin had finished his work, he faced the same problem Bilbo had contemplated for quite a while, in that of how to tie the braids together at the end. Though this time, it was resolved without hesitation, by taking out the beads in his own hair to place in Bilbo's. The recipient was at first unaware, remaining completely content with leaning in to Thorin's touches and closing his eyes, so not noticing the missing beads until it was declared finished and he turned around with a smile.

Then it didn't take him long to notice, and he furrowed his brows in confusion as he reached up to his own hair to confirm that, yes, those were the beads that used to belong in Thorin's own braids. He opened his mouth in protest, but was interrupted without even beginning a statement.

"Come now, Master Baggins, my situation is hardly as dire as yours. If you must, consider them a gift." A spectacular grin graced his features as he spoke, immediately halting any objections.

"Very well then," the burglar muttered in response, "but then you must call me Bilbo. You sound dreadfully formal."

The grin never faltered, and possibly even brightened, though the 'Master Burglar' could hardly discern the difference.

"Of course, Bilbo."

That interaction left him all of a flutter for days, and the fact that the braids were perfectly functional only helped to brighten his mood. He was none too aware of the nature of this newfound... infatuation with Thorin; completely unrequited and really just a silly schoolboy pash (so that he constantly berated himself for being too old for such a thing). Either way, this was a KING and they were on an extremely serious quest to reclaim his kingdom from a DRAGON. Not to mention they had only just gotten their companionship onto good terms, and Bilbo was very well suited to their developing bond simply as friends.

That's why when Gandalf approached him with a certain glint in his eyes that was all too similar to a mischievous child, he was suspicious but altogether clueless. The wizard rode alongside him in silence for what Bilbo deemed much too long.

"What do you want, Gandalf?" He sighed.

"I only meant to inquire after your solution to the issues with your hair. I can't seem to recall you ever being so skilled with styling," he spoke innocently, despite his clear intentions, "or owning beads with runes stating your place in the Line of Durin."

Bilbo scoffed as he reached up to feel the carvings on the small wooden beads. Surely the meddler was merely teasing him; there was no way Thorin would so easily give them away if they meant so much.  
"Don't be ridiculous. Thorin was being practical and a good leader, as always."

"Indeed, I do not know what you are insinuating Bilbo, my dear fellow," was his smug response. Gandalf was very much that sort of person; cunning and rather silly in his meanings yet always perfectly normal and mature in his mannerisms. If you ever got caught in such a scene with him when you hadn't your full wits about you, it was far too easy to be deceived.

"Well off you go then! If you do not wish to be good company, you can go bother someone else," Bilbo remarked after a moment, ushering him away with both words and hands. Thankfully, the wizard did as he was bid, riding up once again beside Thorin.

Once he was certain no-one was paying him much mind, the hobbit allowed himself a small smile as his face flushed. If Gandalf was speaking truly, then at the very least Thorin held him in high esteem, which was perfectly pleasing in and of itself. At the most... well, Bilbo blushed an even deeper red at the thought.

But deep down he contemplated just what he would do if his feelings were reciprocated. He had spent the time pining after a ridiculous crush, never imagining any sort of development with it, though as he remembered the soft security of Thorin's arms, he figured he wouldn't mind the consequences all that much.

Still, it took him until they had reached Beorn's house to finally act on anything, though he preferred to blame that on the ever-advancing orc pack on their trails. Bilbo spent most of his time sat with Bifur, though the significant hinderance in their communications may have made this a surprise to the others. In truth, it was this certainty in lack of discussions which made the hobbit seek him out. He needed time to think, now that he had decided to pursue this mere estimate.

But in truth, that was all it was, a risk, an observation, and the thought made Bilbo horrendously anxious. How on Middle Earth was he supposed to make his intentions clear while avoiding any risk of rejection and ruin of their friendship. It was a great relief when he realised Thorin didn't know of hobbit courting traditions. If he felt the same way, he may act in that manner that causes people to grasp on straws and hope for the best, and if not he would likely ignore it, pass it off as a misunderstanding. No harm could be done.

There were many ways to express romantic intentions in Shire culture, but flower crowns seemed the most simple in their current circumstances, not to mention the amusing thought of a grand King wearing one. There were many flowers in Beorn's land so, checking they were wild and not a part of some treasured garden, it was easy enough to gather a satisfactory amount of the most suitable flowers. Still spending this time sat by Bifur, Bilbo now had something to occupy his time, weaving the flowers together with care and taking discreet glances at Thorin to be as accurate as possible in a comfortable size. Occasionally someone would join them, often Fíli, Kíli, Ori or Bofur, and would typically chat away to Bifur in Khuzdul, noticing Bilbo's attention was elsewhere.

One time, Ori had asked him what he was doing, and everyone turned to him in anticipation quite unexpectedly. The burglar definitely had not predicted such interest in his simple actions. He almost let himself appear embarrassed, but instead, he finished up with the final flower, connecting it all into a circle and presenting it to the Company's full vision.

"It's a flower crown," he stated directly, as though it were obvious enough.

Ignoring the incredulous stares sent his way, he stood and placed it softly atop Thorin's head. He had to refrain a laugh at the sight, said dwarf looking down at him equally perplexed as the rest of his companions.

"A gift, well, a thank you, for helping me with my hair." He gave a quick but genuine smile, and only felt his satisfaction grow at the dazzled, shy expression he received in turn. Honestly, Bilbo had expected raucous laughter from the dwarrows, especially at the sight of their King, but they seemed determinedly silent on the matter. Not that anyone was complaining.

Well, not externally at least. For though he kept the crown, Thorin was among those who was remaining silent. Bilbo didn't know how to react, and his once fool-hardy plan was beginning to crumble. Having no response whatsoever made it much more difficult than an anticipated rejection would. His mind said no, and his heart wasn't willing to stop hoping until that flat-out refusion was granted.

So on the morning they were set to leave, a new course of action was set into place, though it was more of a sudden, instinctual reaction. Thorin was striding through the lands, seemingly leisurely but remarkably alert, as if he was testing for any resistance, any disturbance. The only one he received was from Bilbo, who wasn't noticed until he spoke.

"Clearly your vigilance has failed you, though I will grant you the advantage of orcs being much easier to spot than one burglar hobbit." 

There was no flinch, no surprise, only a smile.

"And I think I shall spare us both by claiming your skills in stealth are merely too advanced," was the additional response.

The hobbit laughed, "Careful Thorin, disguised flattery is easily caught."

"Ah, I suppose your observation is yet another talent you exceed me in."

Bilbo flushed at the ears and chuckled in that manner of having your ego fed heartily, before catching himself and glaring back at Thorin.

"You nearly tripped me there."

They laughed for a moment, before falling into silence. Unlike the majority of their quiet moments together, this was tense, brimming with expectations and anxiety. Perhaps it was just Bilbo who felt this weight, but the strength of it seemed too much for anyone to be able to ignore. The desperation of a direct discussion on their intentions, either equal or horribly contrasting, overwhelmed him once more, until he blurted out without filter,  
"What are the purposes of braiding in dwarven culture?"

A suspicious glance was sent to his braids, ruffled and very near to falling out, but intact nonetheless.

"Why do you ask?"

An excuse was ready on the tip of his tongue, and he so nearly released it before refraining himself.  
"Well, I... In truth, I was wondering your intentions behind braiding my hair. Only, it seems quite significant to dwarves, and I'm quite frustrated with misunderstandings."

Though of course it wasn't that simple, and Thorin seemed to be searching Bilbo's expression, very hesitant on speaking openly. So instead he asked, "May I braid it again, more neatly?"  
No refusal could be mustered.

Patience was key, the burglar decided as he waited in anxiety. The dwarf had done as requested and was sat silently behind him, weaving the hair in exactly the same fashion as before.

"To braid someone else's hair in dwarven customs is an intimate gesture, though it can express different meanings. Often it is a familial experience, or otherwise between friends of complete trust and respect. However, it can also be seen as... intentions to enter a courtship with that person."

"And which were your intentions?"

"What of your flower crown? Was it truly just for gratitude?" There was something different in Thorin's gaze now. Similar to the glares he used to receive but all too different. Far more cold, defensive and, well, hurt.

"No," Bilbo spoke in a much gentler, more hesitant tone, still unsure of his forwardness, "but if that aids you in your response, I would like a proper one now."

So just like that, the dwarrow's mood drastically changed to surprise and hope. There was one last whispered question, final confirmation for consent and their understanding of one another, until Thorin swooped down to press their lips firmly together. Bilbo felt the breath leave his body, and an indescribable light feeling overflowed from his chest that he had no longer felt after his mother's death, when all longing for adventure fleed his mind. Even then, he was sure it hadn't been this life-changing and intense.

He was so caught up in his own euphoria that he hadn't even returned the kiss or noticed thus until Thorin pulled away in concern and doubt. Speaking was ideal, but he found that he couldn't gather any words with his scattered mind, and so he merely gripped the furs covering his beloved's shoulders and pulled him back down with a new desperation and vigour.

They seperated much more reluctantly this time, and even when they did, Thorin continued to hold him close.

"This all seems so surreal, like a dream," he murmured, as though afraid any aknowledgement would wake him up.

Bilbo reached up and traced his hand over Thorin's cheek, through his coarse beard.

"I'm here."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I am a new poster/sharer of my work, so any feedback or constructive criticism would be much appreciated.


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